


A Memorable First Taste

by fleet_of_red



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Character Study, Gaslighting, Gen, M/M, Takes place pre-game, Underage Drinking, red dead redemption 2 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 21:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red
Summary: Arthur was more than a son to Dutch; he was a proof of concept for his plans of expansion.Drunk on the influence he has on the boy they picked up, Dutch’s first descend into madness happens earlier than anyone had realized.





	A Memorable First Taste

**Author's Note:**

> "Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.” --Oscar Wilde

“Why’d I need to do this? Learn to write, I mean?” The boy grumbles with his elbows on a desk, one hand combing through his hair in frustration. “Besides, I can draw just fine, and Hosea’s always said a picture’s worth a hundred words.”

“One thousand, Arthur,” Dutch corrects him without glancing up from his book. “The saying is, ‘a picture is worth one  _ thousand _ words’.”

“See, even better!” Arthur slams his pencil down on the desk in their small hotel room. “I reckon I’ve drawn enough this past week to cover as many words as that book you’re reading, Dutch!” 

“I doubt that,” the older man replies as he thumbs to the next page. “Although, it would be impressive if you can sketch the concept of mankind’s insatiability to rise above their fellow men.”

“Insatia-what?”

“It means having a hunger or desire for something.” 

It’s been almost a year since he and his partner in crime picked up this boy from the streets of a backwater town, trying to pickpocket him of all people. He might have even succeeded if they weren’t already on high alert on account of the law being hot on their trail. 

Hosea took a liking to the boy immediately, and came up with the idea of using him as part of their disguise to evade the law, who’s been looking everywhere for two grown men. Even Dutch could see the appeal of incorporating a new character to add to their assemble, especially one with swift fingers and a good aim. The boy had no one and it took only one full meal to convince him that it was his own idea to join them. 

Arthur paces around the room with boundless energy. He glances out the window of their second story room at the diminishing red line of the sun over the mountain range. “You sure Hosea’s alright? Maybe I should go look for ‘im?”

“He’s fine,” Dutch dismisses. “He did say he might need another day or two to work the information out of the jeweler. Leave him to his work. If you can afford the luxury of boredom, perhaps you can go clean the spare pistols. ” 

Before Arthur came along, Hosea had considered perhaps their partnership had run its course. That it might be better, more nimble, to go their separate ways. But once the boy joined them, something changed. They were now the odd couple and the kid, and even Hosea stop his wandering thoughts of leaving. 

“Fine by me,” Arthur retorts. He kneels over their bags of supplies and takes out the spare firearms. He lays them down on the floor in a row before picking one up to examine closely. “Dutch, you never answered my question. Why’d I have to learn to write all nicely anyway? So I can pretend I’m a learned man and butter up to ‘em rich city folks? I’ve got you and Hosea for that now.”

Obviously, he’s not going to have a quiet night of reading. Dutch snaps his book shut with a sigh and stands up. There should be an opened bottle of bourbon in his suitcase and he sure can use some now. 

He retrieves the bottle and pours himself a shot. “Well, what happens if you want to write a love letter to a sweetheart? No woman’s gonna swoon over your chicken scratch,” he jests. Normally, Dutch takes his time to savour fine liquor, but this isn’t a high-end bottle, and there’s nothing to gain by nursing the glass. He downs it in one shot. 

“Horseshit,” Arthur swears and makes a noise of disgust. “I wouldn’t woo a woman who would be swayed by a flowery love note! Argh, she sounds insufferable.” The boy shudders dramatically. 

Dutch laughs and refills his glass. “You’re young. You’ll soon learn that you don’t always control who you desire.” He ponders after emptying another shot. “You could also write a journal, I suppose; put your thoughts into text and reflect your day on paper.” 

Now it’s Arthur’s turn to laugh. 

“There ain’t no one who’s gonna wanna read ‘bout  _ my _ day, ‘less you count the law who’s gonna take it as evidence. ” The boy clears his throat and adds a bit of flair to his tone, “Let’s see...Today I was a lookout while my associates, one Dutch van der Linde and a Hosea Matthews robbed a banker’s house on the corner of Birch and 4th. We looted $275.00, plus one heirloom necklace. Something like that, you reckon?”

Dutch tuts with a shake of his head. “Didn’t your father ever teach you not to run your mouth off like that?” The effects of alcohol are starting to work as intended as he feels more relaxed and immune to the incessant banters of a boy. 

“Nah, he was loooong gone before he taught me much,” Arthur admits with a shrug. He then watches intently as Dutch raises the glass to his lips before asking, “Can I have some too?” 

“Fine, if you promise to leave me in peace for the rest of the night.” Dutch has no qualms about letting the boy drink; he himself had started drinking young. Besides, there’s nothing normal about a childhood evading the law with two wanted men. “Have at it.”

“Deal,” Arthur agrees with a grin. He takes the extended bottle and gives himself a healthy pour. Dutch watches as the boy takes a sip and wrinkles his nose.  

“Packs some heat, doesn’t it, boy? Maybe it’ll finally put some hair on your chest,” he chortles and takes the bottle back.  

“It’s alright, nothing I can’t handle,” Arthur grimaces and takes another gulp as proof but ends up coughing most of it up instead. 

“Yeah, okay, I think that’s enough for you. Go lie down before you trip over your feet,” Dutch laughs and nudges Arthur onto one of the two single beds in the room. 

“It’s not--went down the wrong pipe’s all,” the boy manages to protest after the coughing subsides. His face flushing red from a combination of sputtering up liquor and embarrassment. It reminds Dutch of the rouge women put on their cheeks. There’s something enticing about it. 

“So, Arthur, if you’re not interested in a gal who likes to receive flowery prose, then what kind of women do you fancy?

“I don’t know,” the boy makes a face while sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. “Maybe someone who doesn’t put their fella through disdainful tasks just to court ‘em?” 

“My, you do have a lot to learn about women,” Dutch shakes his head with a wry smile. “It’s  _ not  _ just about the love letters or trinkets or some random errand they ask of you.” 

The smile disappears entirely, and the older man lowers himself to Arthur’s level and brushes his knuckles down the side of the boy’s face. “It’s a test, you see...A test of loyalty and devotion. It’s about how far you’d go for them.” 

“D-Dutch?” The boy squirms against his hand, uncomfortable with the sudden intimate touch.

“Don’t move,” Dutch orders and walks to the satchel containing their rations. He searches for a moment until he finds what he was looking for: a small jar of animal fat. 

He’s heard tales from drunken bar patrons of lonely ranchers relieving themselves in such ways with their own livestock. And that there are whores who would let you do it, if you’ve paid enough in advance. Dutch acknowledges that the boy does have a fair face and that when the townspeople call him a pretty boy, it’s not a baseless taunt. Sure, he doesn’t have the curves and ample bosom he enjoys on his bed partners, but there is a softness in his youthful face that is not unpleasing to the eyes. 

He walks back to the bed and starts to tug Arthur’s trousers down. At first, the boy merely freezes, but then he starts to struggle in earnest.  “C’mon, this ain’t funny,” he whines. 

“It’s not supposed to be,” Dutch replies levelly. “I’m trying to teach you something, and I’m asking you to trust me. Haven’t you trusted me all this time?” The boy pauses for a moment and Dutch takes the chance to tug his pants down to his knees. 

“I...I guess. I mean, I do... I do trust you,” Arthur stammers. The words as much a reassurance to himself as it is to Dutch. 

“Good.” Dutch unscrews the jar of animal fat and scoops some up to spread over two fingers. It softens and melts from his body heat, making his fingers greasy and slick. He presses Arthur down with one firm hand between his shoulder blades, and with the other, finds the opening behind him and presses in. 

Immediately, Arthur clenches down from the intrusion with a surprised yelp. Dutch can see the boy’s back muscles taut with tension and his hands gripping into the bed sheet with white knuckles. 

“Shhh…just relax,” Dutch whispers comforting words but continues to stretch him with relentless fingers. 

When finally, he deemed the opening relaxed enough, he withdraws his fingers and unfastens his trousers. He takes more of the fat from the jar and slicks himself up. Arthur twists around to look at him then, and there’s something in his eyes...a mix of apprehension and awe as he watches the older man work himself to a hardness.  

The boy looks conflicted, a debate within himself to struggle or comply. For a moment, Dutch thought he would spring up from the bed and run. But then, Dutch sees it, a small fluttering of his lashes and an inaudible sigh as Arthur turns to sink his face back into the mattress. Dutch sucks in a sharp breath as he takes in that sight. Why...that moment of surrender was simply  _ divine _ . 

Impatient now, the man guides himself to the slick opening and pushes into the searing tightness. The boy groans loudly beneath him in discomfort and he shushes, “Try to be quiet... We can’t afford to have nosy hotel patrons come to investigate.” Arthur shudders and chokes back a sound.

Dutch watches, mesmerized, as the slender body yields and takes him in inch by inch, until finally, he’s pressed right up against him. He closes his eyes at the overwhelming sensation and sighs. He’s a man with an appetite, after all, and it has been a while since he’s had the time to pursue anyone. 

But then Dutch takes a moment to calm his rapid heartbeat and tempers his lust with an icy calmness. This isn’t about a physical release; no, it’s much more than that. 

He grips Arthur’s waist tightly, knowing he’ll probably leave finger-shaped bruises later, and starts a punishing pace. It’s strange. Dutch prides himself as a gentleman, and he’s never been this rough with the women he’s bedded before. He tends to the comforts of the fairer sex even when he’s paid for the company. But with the boy? He finds himself wanting to know just exactly where his protege’s breaking point lies. He thrusts in harder.

It’s a game of balance, really, not unlike taming a wild horse. Sure, you can get a lasso around their neck and even mount them, but push too hard and they will still buck you off. The boy’s whole body heaves rapidly like he can’t quite breathe fast enough. Dutch can’t see his expression with Arthur’s face pressed into the bed, but he can hear him--his voice never rising above a meek whimper as he ruts against him. And Dutch is beyond proud. 

“You’re doing so well,” he coos, and he can see some tension melt away from the boy’s tense back with a shuddering breath. 

And as he gets closer to completion, he can see it: a vision for the future. 

A diverse band of men, women, young, old, white, colored, all sharing the same worldview, united under his guidance. Forget simple con jobs and mugging stagecoaches; with a gang of horse riders and gunmen, pulling a train heist wouldn’t be a far stretch. Imagine, a group of characters waiting for his direction, ready to play their part. Just like the boy. 

Out there, people are living a life without meaning as industries grow around them and swallow them whole. But the wild west will not be tamed; not just yet. Their camp will model a way of life that is all but diminishing; a bastion in the darkness. 

With one final thrust, Dutch spills into the body beneath him with a soft grunt. He closes his eyes and allows himself to ride out the waves of pleasure. The boy lies eerily still under him, and Dutch only knows he’s still conscious from the light hiss of pain he makes as he withdraws himself. Briefly, he wonders if he should say something, but decides the best action would be to leave the boy to his thoughts. 

He picks up a clean rag next to their supplies and cleans himself up before walking over to his bed on the other side of the room. Dutch closes his eyes, but his mind is racing with plans of expansion; plans for their bright future. Distantly, he hears the boy move stiffly to clean and redress himself before curling up in bed, facing the wall. 

In the morning, when Dutch wakes from his slumber, he notices the boy is still turned away from him. Judging from the pattern of his breathing, he’s already awake... if he ever slept at all. The man sits up and stretches his muscles.  

“Good morning, Arthur. How’d you sleep?” Dutch asks a question he knew the answer to. The boy’s shoulders flinch slightly at his voice but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Did I snore? I’m afraid I do that when I drink too much,” Dutch muses out loud. He squeezes the upper bridge of his nose as a gesture of fatigue. “Damn, must be a counterfeit batch of bourbon, I don’t even remember how I got in bed.”

The boy turns to face him then, propping himself up with an elbow on the bed. Dutch notices dried blood from a small cut on the bottom of his lip where Arthur must have bitten through the night before in an effort to keep quiet. He finds himself unable to look away from that splash of dark red on an otherwise ashen face. 

Arthur’s expression is pensive and searching as he looks for answers to questions he dare not ask. Dutch wills his expression to remain serene as he returns his gaze, a reassuring smile on his unflinching face.  

After an eternity, the boy breaks the silence with a nod and complains with his eyes casting downwards, “Yeah, you were so drunk I had to haul you to bed.” 

Despite himself, the smile on Dutch’s face grows wider. He knew the kid was smarter than he looks. And loyalty deserves its own reward. “C’mon, how about we catch some fish for supper,” he prompts, injecting a note of cheer into his voice. “The weather is pleasant and there’s a creek not too far from here. Did your pa ever teach you how to fish before he passed?”

“No. We didn’t live near no water,” Arthur replies without enthusiasm, but he still drags himself out of bed, abet with a stiffness that spells reluctance. 

“Well, it’s ‘bout time you learned, son,” Dutch encourages. “Let’s go. Beginner’s luck guarantees you’ll bag a big one.”

The boy is uncharacteristically quiet as they make their way to the creek north of the town, replying in short answers only when spoken to. They borrow a small boat by the pier and Dutch rows them to a section where he detects activity under the surface of the water. And by the time Arthur caught his third fish--water splashing his face as the fish attempts one last struggle on the boat, his smile was back.  

“Good job, son, that’s a mighty catch!” Dutch beams and places a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving it an approving squeeze. Arthur doesn’t flinch at the touch. “We’ll make a fine fisherman out of you yet!”

They never speak a word of that night again. 

In the years that followed, the three of them were joined by many more collaborators just as Dutch had designed. The Van der Linde gang became renowned by both rival gangs and the law, even as the rewards on their heads grew with their notoriety. 

The boy grew up but he wasn’t a blind follower. He voices his own opinions and ideas to supplement Dutch’s plans; a privilege Dutch only affords to few in the camp. Even Arthur’s body language and cadence as he lets his concerns known takes after Hosea at times, a fact Dutch reflects with some fondness. No, not a blind follower at all...the boy will eventually be the heir to his legacy, after all. 

Even if at times, Dutch would knowingly needle him by lavishing parental attention onto the other young men they bring into the fold. He can’t fight his nature after all. Dutch would observe with a sick thrill as Arthur fails to hide his simmering jealousy. Despite his status as the trusted senior enforcer in the camp, Arthur still hoards his attention and Dutch holds that knowledge to his heart. 

He takes in a deep draw from his pipe as he watches the sun rises over their camp. Around him, his gang is bustling with morning activities and idle conversations. He glances at Arthur, who’s saddling his horse to ride out for the day. The boy could have died a number of ways as a child without the world noticing. Or worse, become just another nameless cog in the machine of industry. But now, look at him. A man molded in his vision. A man capable of so much. A pillar in his kingdom. 

His heart swells with pride. Dutch looks at Arthur and sees a man who will never betray him. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleet_red) and [Tumblr](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/)


End file.
